The Dark Prevails
by Stop Looking At My Name
Summary: Prince Luke, 12-year-old son of Darth Vader and heir to Emperor Palpatine, fights for survival and the throne in an Empire filled with treacherous Imperials and bloodthirsty Rebels. A Dark!Luke story featuring Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine, Wilhuff Tarkin, Han Solo, Mon Mothma, and Crix Madine.
1. Chapter 1

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Luke watched enviously as a squadron of TIE fighters spiralled over the top of the main Imperial Palace. He'd begged the Emperor for permission to take part in the display as a pilot but had once again been denied. The Emperor had assured him that he would gladly have allowed Luke to participate were it not for the concerns of Luke's father, Lord Vader, who thought it too dangerous for a twelve-year-old.

Luke was not stupid – he could read between the lines. He knew what Vader actually meant was that it was too _difficult_ for Luke. He had no faith in his son's capabilities, unlike the Emperor, and thought that Luke should be content in his position and not ask for more. True, there were many millions of beings across the galaxy who would have killed for the chance to be stood where Luke was right now; on the grand balcony of the Imperial Palace, stood at the right hand side of the Emperor to watch the Life Day celebrations.

The Emperor looked over to him and Luke forced his features into a look of polite enthusiasm, aware that his every expression was being scrutinised by trillions of beings across the galaxy via the hundreds of Holonet cameras surrounding him.

"Are you enjoying the celebrations, my young friend?" The Emperor asked kindly.

"The pilots are superb, master. Would that I could join them."

"Have you ambitions of being a pilot, your highness?" Asked Governor Tarkin, intruding on their conversation. If there was one person in the Imperial Court whom Luke hated more than his father, it was Tarkin. A sneaky, slimy old man with ambitions beyond his Force-blind station, Luke had been lobbying the Emperor for the right to kill him ever since Tarkin had first sent an assassin after him when he was eight. The Emperor had repeatedly denied his request, but that didn't mean that Luke had to pretend to enjoy Tarkin's company.

"No, _Governor_ ," he spat, emphasising Tarkin's inferior title. "My ambitions extend a little further than yours, I think you'll find."

Tarkin ground his teeth and glanced to the Emperor, clearly hoping he would reprimand Luke for his rudeness. Instead, Palpatine placed his hand on Luke's shoulder, turning him back to face the cheering crowds below. Luke, recognising his role to play, smiled angelically up at Palpatine, who looked back down at him with an expression of paternal pride. After they had held the pose for a few seconds for the benefit of the Holocameras, Luke turned and waved at the crowds, smiling beatifically all the while.

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A few hours later, after Luke had changed into a different outfit and posed for official photographs with the rest of the people privileged enough to be on the balcony, it was time to attend court.

In traditional Life Day fashion, the senior courtiers were going to exchange gifts before the evening's festivities. Luke was eager to get this part over and done with. He had no need for the sycophantic gifts he would receive from those less in the Emperor's favour, nor any desire to feign gratitude for their pathetic tokens of reverence when he could afford to buy the home planets of many of the gift-givers using the income from his Naboo estate alone. He was far more excited for the evening's entertainment, when no fewer than six hundred political dissidents from Chandrila were going to be executed _en masse_ in a demonstration of the Empire's might.

For now he stood waiting his turn to exchange gifts with the Emperor, fuming at the fact that he had been put in line behind Tarkin, presumably a move by the Emperor to assuage Tarkin's anger over his earlier humiliation. Luke paid no attention to Tarkin's pathetic drivel about how honoured he was to serve the Emperor and how grateful he was for his gift (a collection of paintings by some famous artist from Tarkin's home planet worth a paltry 12 million credits), fidgeting impatiently as he waited his turn.

Finally, the Emperor gestured for him to come forward. Luke waited for the major domo to announce him before he did so.

"His Imperial Highness, Prince Luke of Coruscant, Heir to the Imperial Throne, King of Naboo, Archduke of Tattooine, Grand Master and Principal Knight of the Most Noble Order of Imperial Merit, Commander First Class of the Most Honourable Order of the Star of Mandalore, Extraordinary Companion of the Emperor's Service, Honorary Doctor of Divinity at the University of Bar'Leth, Personal Aide-de-Camp to His Majesty the Emperor…" The list went on for so long that it bored even Luke. Eventually, convention allowed him to step forward to speak with the Emperor. Or rather, wait to be addressed. No one spoke to the Emperor without his permission.

"Ah, my young friend. How are you this fine Life Day? I trust you've had a good year?"

"A productive one, master," Luke replied. "I grow in strength and loyalty every day." He hoped the Emperor would heed the not-so-subtle hint and finally give him a real position of military power, instead of endless empty – though lucrative – titles.

"I'm glad to hear it, my boy," said Palpatine with a warm smile. "And how go your lessons?" Luke fought to keep a scowl off his face at the reminder of his youth. It had been worse in the past, he reminded himself: when he'd lived with Vader, and before that his aunt and uncle, he'd been forced to attend school. The Emperor, however, considered it inappropriate for his heir to share teachers and resources with other, lesser children and had provided him with a multitude of specialist tutors instead. He'd always been the only one to recognise Luke's needs and appreciate his intelligence.

"They're going well, master. General Aitan says I'm already a better tactician than half his Academy graduates."

"Good, good. We'll have to put all that knowledge of yours to use one of these days." Luke beamed. "I hear you have a present for me?"

"I do indeed, master." Luke gestured for one of his own servants to come forward and hand him the gift. He stepped forward to present it to Palpatine. "A bottle of wine from the destroyed cruise ship _Accalia_ , one of only 200 ever made and the only one to survive the disaster. I was tempted to keep it for myself, but since I'm not old enough to drink…" Luke let his voice trail off as the courtiers around him laughed politely; even Palpatine chuckled as he took the bottle.

"A rare gift indeed, my friend. Your efforts are a clear demonstration of your loyalty." Luke's heart nearly burst from pride. All the hours spent thinking up a suitable gift, tracking down the bottle, and prising it from the cold and clammy hands of its reluctant owner had been worth it. "I have a gift for you too, my young prince." He gestured and another servant stepped forward, holding a cushion with an ornate jewelled crown on top. "I felt it time that you had your own residence, rather than just apartments in my various palaces. This crown belongs to the Blood Prince of Thassalia, a title I now give to you along with its associated estates, incomes, and privileges."

There were several sharp intakes of breath from the crowd surrounding them. And while this is a noble honour indeed – far better than the gifts of gemstones and assorted artworks that the Emperor had bestowed on his other favourites thus far – it is not the one Luke wanted. He hid his anger at the lack of a military commission behind a grateful smile. "Master, you do me a great honour."

Palpatine must have sensed his fury, because his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he held Luke's gaze. "No more than you deserve, my boy. Visit my apartments tomorrow and we shall discuss the details over dinner." Luke muttered his thanks at the invitation, bowed, then moved aside to allow the next courtier their audience.

He moved through the throng of courtiers, sensing the swell of astonishment that surrounded him – more at the rare invitation to dine with the Emperor than the astronomical gift he'd been given – trying to make his way to a quiet space where he wouldn't have to engage in conversation. It was taking most of his effort to refrain from smashing the throne room to pieces in a rage; attempting to fake a good mood for these idiots was far beyond him at this point.

He had almost made it to a quiet alcove when he was Wilhuff Tarkin stepped out in front of him, blocking his path. "Congratulations, your highness," he said, smiling like a shark. "You must be pleased with your gift."

"One title among many," dismissed Luke, trying to sidestep around Tarkin. Tarkin thrust his arm out to stop Luke, a book in his hand.

"I have a gift for you, your highness," he said, presenting the book to Luke, who made no move to take it.

"I'm afraid I couldn't possibly accept, since I didn't get one for you in return, governor."

"Oh, that's quite alright," reassured Tarkin with a false smile. He raised his voice slightly, ensuring that the people around them could listen in with ease. "It is not customary for children to give their elders presents, anyway."

Luke's face burned – both at Tarkin's words and the few chuckles they engendered from the crowd. He made a mental note of those who'd laughed. They'd pay for it later. He snatched the book from Tarkin's hand and glared at the front cover.

 _The Little Lost Bantha Cub_

 _A Children's Tale_

 _By Yondena Giedi_

"A first edition," Tarkin told him, as though the value of the book made the snub any less offensive. Luke was about to return the humiliation by throwing the book directly into Tarkin's smug face when Vader appeared.

Darth Vader might have had an intimidating aura, but it was a simple trick of the Force to disguise oneself so that those blind to the Force were also blind to one's presence. The fact that Luke had also not noticed his father's approach only increased his irritation.

"Your highness." Vader always addressed Luke by his title when in public: Luke insisted on it. "May we speak in private for a moment?"

As a rule, Luke refused any and all of his father's requests on principle, regardless of who was watching. However, his eagerness to get away from Tarkin before he could suffer any further humiliation meant that he nodded in assent, following Vader through the parting crowds and out of the throne room.

Vader led Luke into a secluded room and dismissed the servants within. Once they had scurried out, Luke stalked over to the grand fireplace and tossed the book into the flames. He remained standing where he was, knowing Vader would be reluctant to move closer to the blaze.

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly. His patience –already worn thin by the Emperor's meagre gift and Tarkin's mockery – was about to vanish entirely.

"I have a Life Day gift for you."

"I don't want it." The words lacked their usual sting: he didn't have the strength to confront his father so soon after his clash with Tarkin.

"How do you know?"

"I don't want any worthless trinkets from you." Vader's attempts to purchase Luke's support through these false displays of affection had lessened in recent years, but they were still frequent enough to be both annoying and pathetic. Only Palpatine ever offered Luke anything of true worth

"You are upset that Palpatine has not recognised your importance," Vader observed.

"Don't embarrass yourself by pretending to know anything about me."

"You were hoping he would reward your loyalty with a military commission, were you not?"

"How his majesty chooses to reward me is neither my concern nor yours."

"How would you like a trip to the Outer Rim?"

"What…" Luke was too stunned by the unexpected offer to form a coherent reply. He couldn't begin to guess at Vader's reasons for extending it to him. "With you?"

"Yes. I have just received orders to take the Super Star Destroyer _Executor_ and use it to root out rebels in the Outer Rim. I thought you might like to accompany me, given your yearning to face the Rebellion in battle, since there will presumably be many opportunities to study the complexities of warfare, even if you cannot participate."

 _Even if you cannot participate._ There was the little caveat that Luke hated the most. Still, the opportunity to travel on his father's new Super Star Destroyer – a brand new model commissioned less than six months ago – was not to be dismissed out of hand.

"How long is the trip?" Luke asked, careful not to betray his interest.

"Five months."

"The Emperor would not allow me to absent myself from court for so long."

"Your absence would be of no concern." Luke gritted his teeth, certain that this was a subtle dig meant to imply he was of little value to the court. "And there need be no disruption to your everyday life. You could bring your retainers – your tutors, your servants, your guards..."

"Would the _Executor_ have space for all of them?"

"The _Executor_ has quarters for over 300 000 crew and passengers. I doubt your household will put much of a dent in our supplies."

The presence of so many of Vader's troops was a concern. Vader's 501st Legion alone consisted of more than a thousand soldiers, whereas Luke's personal guard barely stretched to thirty including Captain Han Solo, their commanding officer. The Emperor had warned him many times about Vader's jealousy and the danger it posed to him. And while Luke was confident in his abilities, he wasn't arrogant enough to ignore the danger of being surrounded by enemy troops so far from Imperial Centre.

A trip in space, though…

Luke had dreamed of flying in space for as long as he could remember. Even way back when he'd been scratching a living out of the sands on Tattooine with his so-called aunt and uncle his thoughts had been in the stars.

"The Emperor won't give his permission."

"It is not the Emperor's decision."

"Which is good, because he certainly won't approve."

"Will you accompany me or not?"

Luke thought about it, his anger at being overlooked once again battling with his hatred of Vader. Was it worth spending five months stuck on a ship with his despised father in order to see the stars?

"Yes," said Luke. "I'll go."

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 **Wow, I can't believe I've finally started writing this story. I wrote the plan to it more than five years ago (yes, I've actually plotted a whole story out for once) but then my old laptop broke and I bought a new one without ever transferring all the files (I'm so lazy) and only bothered to do that when I finally threw the old piece of junk out (I'm also a hoarder).**

 **I stopped writing when I got the new computer and have only just started again, so I'd really appreciate any reviews, comments, or suggestions – I'm a bit worried that my writing ability has suffered a bit from five years of neglect so I could do with the critique to be honest.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.**


	2. Chapter 2

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"And you said yes? What in all nine hells possessed you to say yes to _Vader_ of all people? He makes Mandalorians look friendly! This is just gonna be some trick to lure you to a grisly death, you know that right?"

"Han, what are you doing in here?"

"And then who's gonna have to come and rescue you when you find yourself trapped on some torture table on the _Executor_? Me, that's who."

"I'm still waiting for an explanation, captain." On a good day, Luke found Han's presence to be a welcome relief from the humourless stupidity of the Imperial Court. Today was not a good day.

"I came to try and get it through your _thick head_ just how idiotic this little vacation you've planned is."

"Remember your place, captain," Luke snapped. "You are talking to a future emperor."

"You're a grumpy brat, is what you are, kid. And a stupid grumpy brat at that. Seriously, what's to stop Vader from dumping you out of an airlock as soon as you get out of hyperspace?"

Luke rolled his eyes, abandoning his attempt to instil some sense of protocol on Han once again. "You, I should think. As captain of my guard, it's your job to protect me, is it not?"

"I don't see why I should. Last time I saved your sorry life all I got for a reward was this job. I'm working a sixty hour week!" Han stepped aside to allow Avak Avedis, Luke's master of the wardrobe, access to him. One didn't dine with the Emperor in old clothes, after all.

"I'm not going to feel sorry for you because you choose to spend sixty hours a week sat in the galaxy's most luxurious palace playing Sabacc." Avedis had begun to dress Luke in what seemed like dozens of layers of thick black material, made heavier by the numerous diamonds encrusted along the edges and around the pockets. He looked, in Han's opinion, like a very expensive hat-stand.

"Well then, feel sorry for me since I'm about to lose this cushy job – and quite possibly my life – all because you want to join the galaxy's most vicious thug on a trip to the back end of nowhere."

"I'm going to see the stars, Han."

"Go out onto your balcony, there's stars there."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Just go and oversee the staff transfer to the _Executor_."

"Not my job. You've got a butler to do that. Or is it an equerry?"

"You know something, Han? I regret hiring you more and more every day."

"And I regret saving you from that bomb more with every passing day, kid."

"Which is why you should come with me. You may get a chance to see me blown into pieces yet."

"Oh, ha ha," said Han sarcastically. "That's very funny. I'm gonna remember this moment so that I have a hilarious anecdote to tell at your funeral."

"Relax, Han." Luke's amusement faded slightly as he realised just how serious Han was. "You don't have to worry about Vader. He's not going to kill me."

"How do you know?" challenged Han. "For all we know, both the bomb I saved you from and the assassin you killed before that were the result of Vader and Tarkin working together!" Avedis had finished dressing Luke in his ridiculously expensive outfit and silently departed the room, leaving Luke and Han alone together.

"Vader doesn't want me dead."

"What? Why wouldn't he? You hate each other." Han was looking at Luke as though he'd just announced a desire to move back to Tattooine and become a moisture farmer.

"Because…" Luke hesitated, not wanting to reveal the closely guarded secret of his parentage.

"See? There's no reason why he wouldn't." Luke nodded distractedly. Han was right.

Vader did a good job of pretending to care about Luke – buying him presents, bringing his aunt and uncle to Coruscant, blathering on endlessly about the importance of family – but Luke knew better. Palpatine had told him everything years ago. He'd explained how Vader hated children and had massacred the Jedi younglings against Palpatine's orders, fearing one of them would grow to replace him. He'd told Luke how much Vader hated him, especially, because he blamed Luke for the death of Luke's mother and his own injuries.

Whatever this trip was, it was not a show of fatherly affection. As much as Luke might have wanted it, he knew his father had no affection to give.

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Fortunately for Luke, Han had been uninterested in questioning him further of the nature of his relationship with Vader. Unfortunately for Luke, this was because Han had been busy making fun of his clothes instead. Luke had liked the outfit when it had first been presented to him, but now he was slightly concerned that it did, as Han said, make him look like "a jewel-encrusted hat-stand".

Luke did his best to banish Han's comments from his mind as he walked the long corridors towards the Emperor's private apartments. He could feel his apprehension growing as he contemplated the unpleasant prospect of explaining his decision to Palpatine.

Luke waited as patiently as he could whilst the guards and servants went through the procedures of searching and announcing him. Finally, he was granted permission to enter.

The dining room had been designed in the same style as the rest of the palace – grand and opulent. In the centre of the vast room was a table bigger than most starfighters, its polished wooden surface inlaid with electrum. All the chairs matched, with the exception of the chair at the head of the table. More throne than chair, the rare and expensive wood it was crafted from was barely visible underneath a myriad of taaffeite and platinum adornments.

Yet it was neither the jewels nor the glittering metals that held Luke's attention. Amidst these ostentatious displays of wealth, the Emperor's plain black cloak looked incongruous, but there was no denying the power of the man himself.

Luke had admired and respected him since their first meeting five years ago. The idea that this man – this one man – owned and commanded almost the entire galaxy was almost too much for a poor farm boy to comprehend. It was the Emperor who had personally invited him to attend court, assigned him a staff of over 90 beings, and invested him with numerous honours and titles – all things his own father had refused to do for him.

It was Palpatine who had made Luke's extravagant lifestyle possible, a fact Luke was well aware of. He was also aware of how poorly he was repaying his master's kindness by abandoning all he had been given – even if only temporarily – simply because Vader had requested it. The news of Luke's decision must have reached Palpatine's ears by now: He had spies everywhere and Luke's meeting with Vader had hardly been clandestine. Despite this he greeted Luke warmly, placing a grandfatherly hand on his shoulder when Luke knelt in front of him before gesturing him to his seat.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, Luke thanking the Emperor again for his Life Day gift. He got no thanks in return. Once the meal was served, Luke busied himself with eating, aware that Palpatine was closely surveying him.

"You seem preoccupied, my friend."

"I was just thinking about the executions, master," Luke lied.

"Ah, yes. It was a wondrous show, was it not?"

"Yes, master." In truth, Luke had found the whole display rather disturbing: He had long since become inured to the sight of death. He had even killed a man himself once. But there was a difference between an orderly firing squad or even a violent, adrenalin-fuelled struggle and the kind of executions that had taken place last night. One particular image – a girl slightly older than himself writhing in agony as poison flooded her bloodstream – had kept him awake for most of the previous night. It was a weakness he had to work on.

"It was a shame you missed the beginning. I didn't see you at the end of the gift ceremony, either." Palpatine's eyes were fixed on Luke. Luke's eyes were fixed on his plate.

"I was with my father," he admitted, immediately regretting his phrasing. It was unwise to refer to the relationship he and Vader shared when Palpatine had fought so desperately to protect Luke from his father's influence. A small crime, though, considering that he was about to announce his intention to throw Palpatine's protection back in his face for the sake of a trip to the Outer Rim.

"I see," said Palpatine. "And what did Lord Vader want with you?"

"He had a gift for me."

"Oh? What was it this time? A new speeder? More toy mechanics kits? Another trip to the infirmary, perhaps?" Luke's brief flash of anger at Palpatine's mockery faded at the reminder of just how their relationship had become so fraught.

That was not to say they had ever had a deep father-son bond, but until two years ago they had at least managed to maintain a civil front with one another, even sharing the same palace apartments on the rare occasions Vader was back on Imperial Centre. The undercurrent of tension had exploded one day when Luke was ten; an argument between the two of them escalating to the point of blows. A Force push from Vader had thrown Luke into a stack of crates, smashing his spine against the corners. Teams of the galaxy's best medics had worked around the clock to prevent Luke from being paralysed, while his unconcerned father had left to hunt down a suspected Jedi hiding on Kashyyyk.

It was Palpatine who had personally helped Luke through his recovery, visiting him almost every day to talk about the Empire, the Force, and the important role Luke had to play in both. For the first time in his life, Luke had felt truly _valued_. Palpatine had painted him a vision of the future that was to come: a future in which Luke was the most powerful being in the galaxy, ruling over even his own father. Palpatine had already displayed his confidence in Luke's maturity by offering him his own apartments, complete with staff, ready to move into as soon as he was released from the infirmary.

By the time Vader had returned from Kashyyyk, his son was gone. Less than a year later, Luke had been officially instated as Heir to the Imperial Throne. Heir to Palpatine, not Vader. His separation from his father had been complete.

"I am sorry, my friend." Palpatine reached a gentle hand across the table, resting it on Luke's arm. "I didn't mean to bring back such painful memories for you. I only wished to make you aware of the danger you face by associating with Lord Vader. He is a bitter and ruthless creature–"

"I'm going to the Outer Rim with him," blurted Luke, knowing he would be unable to say it if he waited any longer. Palpatine's eyes narrowed at the interruption. "On the _Executor_ , when she goes on her five-month tour."

"I see," he said.

The silence stretched. Luke shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his mind racing for the words which would justify his decision. He found none. Eventually, his master spoke again.

"I speak to you now not as the Emperor, but as your dearest and oldest friend. This decision you have made is unwise. As the person who cares for you most, it would break my heart if you came to harm through some trickery on Lord Vader's part."

"I don't trust him and I won't be tricked by him, but I've made up my mind: I'm going. I'm asking for your blessing, not your permission." Luke resisted the urge to fidget, not wanting to display just how fragile his boldness was.

"You have it, my friend," said Palpatine, smiling at Luke's surprise. "Is that such a shock to you? You are a grown man now, and as such I respect your decisions. You have raw power far greater than Darth Vader's. I am certain that when he finally reveals his hand and moves against you, you will prevail."

"You are?" Luke wasn't so sure. He agreed that he was both powerful and fully grown, but that did not mean he felt ready to face Vader. His father was still so much stronger than he was. Despite Luke's quick progress in his training, he couldn't compete with Vader's expertise. If Vader decided to move against him, Luke would be crushed like a bug.

So why hadn't he then?

Luke banished the errant though as Palpatine began speaking once more.

"You are by far the greater man. I could not have wished for a better protégé. He has experience, but you have me." Palpatine removed his hand from Luke's arm and leaned back in his throne-like chair. The hood fell forward slightly, only his golden eyes visible in the shadows. "But know this, my friend. There is every chance that Vader may try to trick you, to pretend you are on the same side, to convince you to stand against me. Although I have come to see you as a son in these last few years I will tolerate no dissent, not even from you."

The last vestiges of Sidious's caring persona faded as he locked eyes with Luke, roiling gold against crystal blue.

"Oppose me and I will destroy you."

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 **Sorry for the long wait. I've had literally no time these last few days between moving house and preparing for my first ever university assignment! In addition to posting this, I've also updated chapter one slightly with the help of some suggestions from ao3 user liz_mo.**

 **I'm hoping to publish the next chapter within a week, if I can. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

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The hangar bay was a flurry of activity as thousands of stormtroopers, officers, engineers, technicians, and support staff prepared to make the short shuttle trip to the _Executor_. Luke watched the proceedings from where he was perched on top of a crate of supplies, idly swinging his legs back and forth. Han was supposed to be guarding him, but as far as Luke could see, Han appeared to be trying to chat up one of the NCOs instead. As Luke scanned the crowd he noticed another familiar face, and jumped down to greet him.

"Hey, Zev!"

"Luke! Hey, what are you doing here?" Two years older than Luke, Zevulon Veers attended the same school Luke had before he'd been instated as Imperial Prince. They'd never been classmates, but had been close friends nevertheless due to their participation on the same debate team. Now, with Luke occupied by his princely duties and Zev busy studying for his academy exams, they only saw each other at the occasional palace-organised hunt or ceremony.

"I'm going with them." Luke gestured at the throng of people milling around them.

"Really? Wow. How come? Did you get a commission?" Luke hesitated, not wanting to reveal that he was only going as a passenger.

"Not officially," he said, trying to spin the facts in a way that would impress his friend. "The Emperor and I had dinner the other night. I can't tell you what we discussed, but basically he said I'm too valuable to be wasted on a normal military role and he gave me a special mission to complete while I'm on the _Executor_."

"Wow, that's incredible!"

"Mm-hmm. So, what are you doing here?" Luke wouldn't normally have bothered to ask, but he was keen to change the topic of conversation before Zev decided to question him about his 'mission'.

"Oh, I'm seeing my father off. He's just been reassigned so he's working directly under Lord Vader now. I don't know where he is, though."

"He'll probably just be angry at you for coming instead of spending your time studying or something."

"Yeah, I know. Did I tell you he bought me another new tutor the other week?"

"No. What for?"

"Astronomy. I only got 93% in my end-of-year test so he bought this Green Nikto to tutor me. It's great; she really knows her stuff."

"Cool."

"Hey, Luke!" The two boys turned at the shout to see Han, accompanied by a middle-aged man and woman, looking extremely uncomfortable in their finely tailored clothing. "Look who's here!"

"Who are they?" asked Zev, frowning. "They look like they've just been picked up from some shack in the Hutt territories."

"I don't know. I've never seen them before," Luke lied. "Why don't you go and find your father while I see what they want?" Zev murmured his agreement and departed, glancing over his shoulder curiously at the conspicuous couple as he did so.

Luke sighed as he watched his friend leave. This next conversation was sure to be far more difficult.

"Luke, sweetheart?" Luke turned at the sound of his aunt's voice, plastering a big smile on his face as he did so. It had taken a long time to forgive his aunt and uncle for their role in keeping him on a backwater planet, away from the power and prestige he was entitled to. As he'd grown older he'd finally recognised what they had always seen so clearly – just how dangerous this life could be.

"Aunt Beru! What are you doing here?"

"Oh, we heard you were going and we thought we'd come to say goodbye."

"Vader told us," Owen cut in. Han, picking up on Owen's irritated tone, did what he always did when Luke was in trouble and walked away.

"Told you what?" Luke asked him, trying to pull off an innocent tone while glaring at Han's back.

"Told us that you were going. You didn't bother to tell us, so we had to hear it from him."

"I didn't think it was any of your concern, Lars."

"Now, now, let's not fight." Beru smiled gently, spreading her arms in a placating gesture between her husband and her nephew. "Vader told us that you'll be gone for five months, is that true?"

"Yes." Luke's voice was still tight and his gaze was still fixed on his uncle's equally simmering face.

"That's a long time. What are you going to do about school?"

"School?" Luke felt a flash of guilt as he realised how little he spoke to his aunt and uncle. "I haven't gone to school for some time now. I have tutors instead."

"Really? How long has that been going on for?"

 _Almost two years,_ Luke thought.

"Not very long," Luke said. "They're coming with me, anyway, so I won't miss any lessons."

"That's good," said Owen. The three of them lapsed into silence. Luke glanced around the hangar bay, searching for a new topic of conversation that wouldn't end with him and Owen shouting at one another.

"Look, there's Admiral Ozzel. He bagged a mynock on our last hunt, you know."

"Oh, really?" Owen clearly didn't know what a mynock was. "Are they hard to catch?"

"They're not so bad. About as hard to catch as womprats." This was always the most difficult aspect of speaking with his aunt and uncle; trying to explain his new life to them in terms they would understand.

"Not easy then," said Owen, forcing a smile for his nephew. "Who knows, you might catch one yourself one day."

"Yeah…" Luke didn't tell Owen that he'd caught far prey far trickier than mynocks. Owen would probably take it as boasting and start shouting again. Beru would be horrified if she knew that her nephew's kills included a would-be assassin among other dangerous beasts. "I have to go now. We'll be boarding soon. I'll come visit you when I get back."

Beru in particular looked shocked at Luke's sudden departure, but she and Owen muttered their goodbyes and Luke waved to them as he ran over to where Han was stood next to a shuttle, heaving a great sigh of relief that the conversation was finally over.

"Why didn't you help me?" he hissed at Han. "You can't just bring them here and then abandon me."

"Sure I can," replied Han easily. "Nice family bonding time, that's what I like to see."

"Well you didn't hang around long enough to see it," snarked Luke. "You were gone faster than a Hutt in an exercise class."

"You know, most kids would be happy to have the chance to say goodbye to their family before leaving them behind for five months. Are they really your family, anyway? Cos I know you call her Aunt Beru but is that actually cos she's your mum or dad's sister or is she just like some old nanny or something?"

"It's none of your business who they are."

"Alright, forget I said anything. I just want to know who your next of kin is so I can send them the news about your tragic untimely death when Vader throws you out of an airlock."

"Just get on the shuttle."

'

* * *

'

The journey to the _Executor_ was boring, and unfortunately it set the tone for the first few weeks of Luke's trip in space. Where he'd envisioned exciting space battles and views of supernovas, he instead got endless grey corridors and views of black nothingness.

Technically, he was allowed access to the bridge, which should have been a lot more interesting than simply looking out of the twenty by thirty centimetre porthole in his cabin, but every time he tried to go near it, he sensed Vader's presence. Luke was beginning to think that his father truly was a machine: He seemed to have no need to leave the bridge for rest or food nor any desire to leave due to boredom. Even Luke, who was desperate to see the workings of the new Super Star Destroyer, could admit that he would eventually grow bored of standing on the command deck all day.

Not that he wasn't bored as it was. Luke's days were spent either with his tutors, learning the histories of long-dead people and civilisations, or with Han, watching as his bodyguard cheated his fellow soldiers at Sabacc. Luke was bored enough that one afternoon, almost two months into the journey, he found himself in the senior officers' lounge, trying to get a drink of Corellian whiskey.

He'd come across the place by accident while exploring the ship, and was now sat on one of the sofas, eyeing the men around him. So far, there'd been no resistance either to him entering the lounge or taking a seat at the bar. With his presence hidden from the officers by a trick of the Force, he hadn't expected there to be, but it was a relief nonetheless. With this first obstacle overcome, Luke turned his attention to the protocol droid behind the bar.

Specially modified for bartending purposes, the protocol droid could prove to be quite a problem for Luke. It was common practice on more civilised worlds to ask any suspiciously youthful looking beings for ID before serving them anything stronger than a muja juice and even the most lawless of Hutt-controlled cantinas would think twice before serving a twelve-year-old, especially one as short and round-faced as Luke. Failure to produce said ID would in all likelihood cause the droid to transmit an automated message to the local law enforcement authorities. Wary of being publicly embarrassed, Luke decided to slink out of the senior officers' lounge and try to beg some drink off Han instead. The only problem with that idea was that Han would undoubtedly give him whatever he asked for as long as Luke paid for it, which took some of the fun out of it.

As he slipped off the barstool, Luke noticed a tiny catch on the back of the protocol droid's head which he hadn't been able to see from higher up. He smirked, his years of tinkering with half-scrapped droids under Tatooine's blazing suns coming back to him. He glanced around the lounge quickly, but his little Force-trick was still holding and none of the senior officers noticed him. Luke jumped up onto the bar – he was still short enough to need the Force's aid to do it – and slid over into the protocol droid's domain.

Now here, the easiest thing to do would be to simply take the bottle he wanted and make the drink for himself. But that wasn't the Skywalker way.

It took almost six full minutes to rewire the droid and disable the transmitter – certainly not a record-breaking effort for Luke, but it was harder to do without the proper tools and while trying to avoid making excessive amounts of noise. Luke was almost as skilled with the Force as he was with mechanics, but drawing too much attention to himself would break the illusion he had cast over the senior officers nonetheless.

Tinkering finished, Luke hopped back over the counter and retook his seat. He ordered his drink, noticing with satisfaction that his modifications appeared to be working perfectly (although the protocol droid seemed to have acquired a Toydarian accent at some point during them). Luke was proudly taking his first sip when a wave of shock from the surrounding officers rolled over him and he dropped the glass on the counter, the liquor within spilling out and dripping down onto the floor.

Darth Vader.

His father stood at the entrance of the senior officers' lounge, arms crossed. He must have hidden his presence on the journey down from the bridge. At his arrival, the men stood to attention, though Vader wasted no time basking in their respect.

"At ease," he rumbled. The men gratefully relaxed their stances, though they were still clearly on edge at the presence of both the Heir to the Imperial Throne and the Supreme Commander in the same room as them, Luke's illusion having failed in his shock at seeing his father.

Vader stalked over to where Luke was sat. Despite the added height the barstool gave him, Vader still towered over Luke. It was the first time they had spoken since Vader had proposed this trip to him, and Luke was determined not to show any fear.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Having a drink." Luke gestured to the now-empty glass, its contents splashed across the surface of the bar.

"You should not be in here. You are not a senior officer."

"I'm the Heir to the Imperial Throne! If I want to have a drink in the–"

"Do you want to do this here?" asked Vader dangerously, cutting off Luke's arrogant tirade. Luke forced himself not to blink as he looked up into Vader's mask.

"Do what?" he challenged. In response, Vader grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off the barstool, pushing him across the room and out of the door. Luke struggled at first, but stopped when he realised how many people were staring as Vader marched him through the corridors. Better to appear as though this was an organised meeting between the Prince and his future subject rather than a father disciplining his wayward son.

Vader dragged him down two corridors and into an empty conference room, gripping Luke's arm tightly the whole way. When they were finally alone, Vader let go of Luke's arm and pushed him into one of the vacant chairs.

"What do you think you were doing?" It was difficult for Luke not to notice just how vulnerable he was as Vader towered over him. They had been in this position before and it had ended with a two-week stay in hospital and months of physical rehabilitation. Luke licked his lips nervously and twisted slightly in the chair.

"Answer me!" Vader yelled. Luke had forgotten the question. He was scared. He didn't want to be here. He wanted Han or the Emperor to protect him. He didn't want to go to hospital again. He wanted his father to go away and never come back.

"Leave me alone!" he screamed, using the Force to shove his father away from him. The move wasn't well-planned or executed and it only caused Vader to stagger backwards a few feet, rather than smashing him into the opposite wall like Luke had hoped it would. Luke stumbled to his feet, aiming to make a run for it before his father got his wits together, when suddenly there was a large shudder and Luke was thrown sideways.

For a split second Luke thought that his father had retaliated and thrown him into a wall again. Then he heard a series of loud cracks as the chairs hit the wall alongside him. The whole ship had jolted, knocking everything towards the starboard side. Only the bolted-down table – and Vader, who was clinging to it – had avoided being smashed into the wall.

Luke struggled to get to his knees, barely able to think over the ringing in his head and the pain in his left shoulder. He couldn't tell if the room was still swaying or if he was just dizzy. The question was answered seconds later as the room tipped violently again, this time to port side. Luke fell through the air before coming to an abrupt stop in mid-air. Blinking tears out of his eyes, Luke craned his neck to see Vader, still grasping the table with one hand, stretching his other hand out towards Luke. They stared at each other for a moment, then one of the freefalling chairs collided with Luke's face, sending him spinning into the wall.

The room righted itself again, and Luke and the chairs slammed into the floor together. A siren was sounding somewhere. Luke pushed up, avoiding putting any weight on his left arm, and clambered to his feet. Blood was dripping from the gash on the side of his face onto his collar. His neck felt sticky. "What's going on?" he asked. Vader turned to look at him.

"We're under attack."

'

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 **Sorry this took so long to update! I literally had everything other than the last 2/3 paragraphs written months ago, then I got hit with massive family problems and have only just found time to get back to this!**

 **Also, I'm aware this is my weakest chapter so far but please cut me some slack - I'm too tired to do anything properly atm.**

 **Happy Star Wars Day!**


	4. Chapter 4

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"Who's attacking us?" Luke asked. He was struggling to keep pace with his father as Vader strode purposefully down the bustling corridor. Normally people would jump to one side as he passed, but conflict left no room for courtesy, and even the lowliest stormtrooper didn't hesitate to push their way past the Dark Lord and Imperial Prince as they scrambled to prepare the ship for battle.

"Rebels, most likely," said Vader. "Pirates would never be this bold." He stopped outside one of the turbolifts, thumbing the button.

"Down?" asked Luke. "You're not going to the bridge?"

"Captain Tesar has everything under control. I am needed on the battlefield." The turbolift doors opened and Luke and Vader stepped in. Vader pressed two buttons and the doors closed.

"You're going to fly?" Luke bounced on the soles of his feet, the pain in his shoulder and face forgotten. "I'm coming! I want to fly too!"

"Nonsense. You are injured and you have never flown in battle before. You will stay here."

"But I've practised on plenty of simulators. I bet I'm more skilled than half your pilots."

"No. You will stay here."

"I'm going to fly and you can't stop me!" There was a ping as the turbolift doors opened. Luke spun round, intending to run across the hangar before his father could stop him, only to crash straight into the arms of a waiting medical droid.

"NJ-20, please see to it that our prince gets the medical attention he requires." Belatedly, Luke remembered that Vader had pressed two buttons on entering the turbolift – one for the medical deck and one for the hangar bay. He squirmed out of NJ-20's plasteel hold, trying to get back into the turbolift before Vader went into battle without him.

"I don't need any medical attention. I feel fine!"

"NJ-20, please note that His Highness has recently suffered a head injury. He may need to be sedated before he can be treated properly."

"Don't you dare–" snarled Luke, striding towards Vader. Before he could reach him there was a sharp prick in the side of his neck and everything went black.

'

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* * *

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Luke woke to the feeling of soft blankets surrounding his body and small fragments of something light but spiky dropping on his face. He kept his eyes closed for a minute, snuggling into the warm fabric as the tiny particles continued to drop onto his nose and eyelids. After a few more minutes, the pattering of unidentified items hitting his face became too irritating to ignore, and he blearily opening his eyes to face Han.

"You're awake, then," said Han, voice muffled by the large quantity of spiced warra nuts he was eating. As he spoke, fragments of the nuts flew out of his mouth, spraying Luke's face. That explained the tapping he'd been feeling.

"Han, you're disgusting."

"Says you, junior. Your whole face looks like a blaster wound right now."

"Get me a mirror, then."

"Trust me, junior, even you don't want to see your ugly mug." Han stood up anyway, disappearing from Luke's line of sight for a few moments. When he came back he was holding a mirror. Luke stretched out his left arm to take it.

"Ah, kriff!" Luke snatched his arm back, cradling it in his right. Sharp pain was blossoming through his shoulder and he twisted round, trying to see the damage.

"Yeah, Enjay said you're gonna wanna not use that arm for a while. You banged it up pretty bad."

"Yeah, thanks for the warning, Han," hissed Luke through gritted teeth.

"It's not my fault I didn't warn you. How was I supposed to know that one bit hurt worse than all the rest? Your whole body looks like a failed experiment from a cloning factory."

"Just give me the mirror, sleemo." Luke snatched the mirror with his right hand without waiting for Han to respond.

Han was right: It wasn't a pretty sight. A freshly stitched-up gash stretched from above his left eye all the way down through his chin. His left eye was swollen and bloodshot and his whole face was covered with dozens of tiny scratches. Out of the corner of his good eye, Luke could see Han watching him anxiously. Luke kept his face blank, trying not to show how much the injuries bothered him.

"It'll heal up fine," reassured Han, apparently not fooled by Luke's nonchalant expression. "You've had the best medical treatment available. You were seen before everyone else, too. Even Captain Tesar had to wait to be seen to – and he lost an eye in the battle!"

"The battle!" Luke bolted upright. How could he have forgotten?

"Yeah, battle's over, kid. Better luck next time."

"What happened?" demanded Luke. His right fist was clenched and he was nearly shaking with fury. How dare his father prevent him from fighting for the Empire? That glory-stealing trash. So desperate for any chance to curry favour with the Emperor he would knock his own son unconscious just so he could get all the credit for defeating the enemy.

"Rebels attacked us just as we were coming out of hyperspace. They shot some new kind of torpedoes at us, targeted at strategic points, so that the whole ship lurched."

"What about the internal gravity?"

"Tampered with." Han grimaced. "Seems we have a traitor on-board. Lord Vader is tracking them down now and everyone's staying well out of his way. Anyway, about a fifth of all crew were injured in the lurch, including Captain Tesar. He landed face-first and got a data rod stuck in his eye. Lieutenant Piett ended up commanding the ship for most of the battle."

"Did we capture any of them?"

"No," Han said, shaking his head. "We killed loads, though. Piett's a fast thinker and Vader stopped most of the x-wings before they could do any damage." Luke didn't say anything to that, not wanting to comment on his father's supposed skill. Han didn't seem particularly inclined to talk either, and when Luke glanced at him he saw Han gnawing on his lip in an uncharacteristically anxious way.

The door opened and Pemi Dukous, Luke's personal medic, walked in. After performing a series of tests on his damaged eye which required Luke to be conscious, she announced that he needed rest in order to heal and injected him with a sedative before Luke could protest.

Luke was on the verge of unconsciousness – sedatives were slower-acting and less effective when used on Force-sensitives – when he heard the door open again. His eyes were already shut, but Luke didn't need to be able to see to know who had entered the room: his father's distinctive breathing was unmistakeable. Suddenly alert, Luke anchored himself to Han's mind to halt his descent into unconsciousness. He knew there were techniques to prevent the drug's effect altogether, but neither his father nor the Emperor had ever shown them to him so he was forced to use his own improvised method to stay awake.

His eyes still firmly closed, Luke resisted the urge to turn his head to follow his father's path across the room. To his surprise there was no audible reaction from Han other than the scrape of his chair as he pushed it back to stand. Nobody spoke for a moment as Vader scanned Luke's mind, examining it for any signs of consciousness. Luke hid his mental activity under Han's, giving the impression that his own mind was in a relaxed state with just the few flickers associated with dreams visible.

"Did you tell him?" Vader's voice was as loud and clear as always, but Han's response was quiet and firm.

"He doesn't need to know."

"He is in danger."

"I won't let anything hurt him." It was clear from the tone of his voice that Han included Vader in that statement.

"Nothing will," replied Vader. The sound of his heavy breathing was the only noise in the room for a few moments. "Who sabotaged the internal gravity systems?"

"What? Why would I know? If you're trying to imply that I had something to do with this attack-"

"Calm yourself, Captain. I merely allude to the fact that it would be correct form for the Prince's personal guard to have identified and neutralised any and all threats to his safety."

"I would, but our Emperor places an unreasonably high value on your life, My Lo-" Han's voice was cut off by the sound of choking.

"You go too far, Captain," Vader boomed. The choking sounds ceased, replaced by Han's strangled gasp for air as he was released. "If you remember correctly, it was I who prevented the Prince from participating in the battle. Had they succeeded in luring him out, he would be halfway to a Rebel base by now."

"Not-" Han spluttered for a moment, then took several deep breaths. Once he had recovered enough to speak normally, he tried again. "Not dead?"

"The Rebels wouldn't kill him straight away. He knows too much." There was another long moment as Han and Vader both contemplated this.

"We don't know for sure this attack was aimed at him," said Han, without any real conviction in his voice.

"I know what I sensed, Captain." Vader didn't sound angry at being questioned, just tired. "The danger is focused on Luke. I should never have brought him on this trip." Luke felt the surprise echo through Han's mind, though whether it was at Vader's over-familiar use of his first name or his uncharacteristic statement of regret, Luke couldn't say.

"Then why did you?" asked Han. There was no response, and after a few minutes Luke heard Vader's footsteps disappear down the ship's corridor.

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End file.
